Cuentos

Dizzying

Sometimes at the big parties, I wouldn’t dance. Instead, I’d stick out my arms, place my feet — in cute patent leather Mary Janes — in position and spin. My colitas and dress would fly up.

The dancers would become a blur. Until I bumped into one.

Then I’d be told to stop.

“Ya párale, te vas a marear!”

But that’s exactly what I wanted. So I wouldn’t listen and get back to spinning. Soon, cousins and siblings would join the fun and we’d become a small group of whirling dervishes.

It was all so much fun… until someone got hurt. Someone always got hurt. The eldest kid or ringleader would try to prevent more drama.

“Don’t cry! You’re going to get us in trouble!”

But it was futile. We hadn’t learned yet how to suppress the tears. A parent would rush over, to scold the crier.

“Te dije… that’s what you get.”

The sniffling crier would be taken away or inside to get cleaned up. The rest of us would come up with a new game to entertain us… until someone got hurt.

Photo taken by Alan at LACMA inside a Richard Serra sculpture

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Familia

Siguiendo la luna

My parents wanted to name me Veronica. Dad liked the idea of calling me Ronny. They passed on the name after a couple close friends chose the name for their newborns.

Cynthia came to them from a baby book. I don’t know what they liked about it, but just know that it met their primary qualification: it sounded good in English and Spanish (to avoid aCameron/camarón) situation).

They rarely use Cynthia, just as they rarely use Daniel and Laura. I’ve always been Cindy, except when it comes to a place like the doctor’s office or the DMV. Or when I got in trouble.

I didn’t think about this much until I read “My Name,” a vignette in Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street in high school. I wrote a short essay and concluded that Cindy fit me better. It was short, bouncy and casual. Conversely, Cynthia was too long, formal and sounded inherently snobby (only in English, I like how it sounds in Spanish).

I didn’t even consider the meaning of my name. After all, this was well before I fully developed my affinity for the moon and came to really appreciate my prominent lunares.

A few weeks ago, after a great run under the full moon, I came to new conclusion about my name. Mom and dad knew what they were doing.

Cynthia really does fit me (or I fit it?).

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Mememe

Micro-blogging

I love that my friends and family take pictures when they find the elusive 31. My cousin, Vanny, took this photo at the San Diego Zoo.

Today’s karaoke scorecard: Me Voy (Julieta Venegas), Hopelessly Devoted to You (Olivia Newton John, Grease), Tú, Solo Tu (Selena version), Tragos Amargo (Ramón Ayala), I Will Follow You Into the Dark (Death Cab for Cutie), and First of the Gang to Die (Morrissey). [I picked songs to fit the sad song theme. Also, I’m already making a list of songs I need to sing next time I do karaoke.]

The boyfriend shares a birthday with Tiffany. I share one with Debbie Gibson. We were meant to be…

Cindy is is equal parts Marcha de Zacatecas and Camino de Guanajuato.

Continue reading →

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Cambios

Sweet tooth

I love sweets, but I don’t crave them. I don’t sit around and think, “I need a brownie right now!” I only want a brownie at the moment Lori pulls them out of the oven. Otherwise, I’m okay.

Donuts are my exception. And even then, I’m only tempted when in proximity to a shop. I always want to stop, but rarely do (even before starting WW).

So, imagine how I felt when I got to work a few days ago to find a box of donuts and muffins on my desk. Although I’d miss the going away mini-party for a co-worker, I hadn’t missed the goodies.

Yeah. Uh oh.

My supervisor saw me eying the box.

“Please, have one!” she said cheerily.

I nodded, but didn’t grab one of the two remaining glazed donuts (my 2nd favorite behind cinnamon crumb). I sat down, logged in to my computer and began making some calls. I ignored the box until my co-worker came by an hour later.

“I know you’re trying to eat healthy, want me to move this?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

He moved it to the next desk out of my line of vision.

All was fine until I started to feel hungry at 3:30, a few hours after my lunch. I went back to the box, ready to give in.

All the glazed donuts were gone. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.

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